Not to be outdone, Marianne drops into the hole as well, her willowy frame easily absorbing the minimal shock. She creeps forward a few feet, and then glares at her friend and brother when they cause a ruckus. ”I cannot bring you people anywhere,” she says through gritted teeth. It’s hard to tell if she’s mad at them, or trying to crack a joke despite her nerves.
Big Sitter barrels down the tunnel. It is obviously orean-dug, as there are no fortifications present. After one long bend, this dirt tunnel connects to the mine proper, beginning a descent into stonier soil that bears the rough mark of tools.
Albreane attempts to stop Sitter so she can inspect the state of the tunnels, but the oread, in his quick-breathing fervor, takes no notice. A few loose rocks batter at him, and he breaks down a few crude barriers made of spare timber. A few begrudging grunts are the only reply Big Sitter gives to the scrapes and bruises.
Having cleared a clumsy path for the rest of you, he finally begins to slow down. He leans up against the stony wall, about seventy feet away.
Wamblee ignores the protests of his brothers, runs, then approaches Big Sitter, slowing aa he does.
"What do you see?", he asks while looking himself.
You see shards of metal, staked (or grown?) into the tunnel floor and nailed into the tunnel walls. The jagged pieces of scrap are both pointed and edged, like a nasty sliver of glass. This shark-toothed cylinder of rock goes on for ten or fifteen feet before going around a bend to the left, out of sight.
The metal is, of course, brass.
Wamblee points to the danger for his siblings, while seeking to spot a safe path through.
”I could crawl across the ceiling, but that isn’t any way to clear them. We should see how easily they are removed,” Marianne suggests, eyeing the spikes nervously.
"Try that then, if I can not find a way first.", replies Wamblee tersely, still looking out. He tries to spot a trail left by elens through the dangerous terrain.
"Okay. If you go nutty, I'll race big sitter over here to decapitate you. It'd be for the best, really."
Marianne (and Samoon) climb the ceiling easily enough, and there is no reaction from the spikes. Any sort of cleaning or removal would be long, tedious, and dangerous.
Wamblee shakes his head.
"I cannot see a safe path on foot. Mar, Samoon, do you see a way from up there?"
Marianne also checks for a path through, or any evidence of other ways elen passed through here.
Samoon thinks.
"We could lay down boards. Wasn't there lumber back further in the mine? I don't feel like walking on stilts, though." He wishes there was a mine cart around...
Albreane nods at Samoon's idea.
"I'll go with you. I bet I can scavenge some building supplies out of the wrecks of those fortifications that were..." she glances briefly at Big Sitter, "knocked down." A faint frown etches her features.
Big Sitter takes no notice; he is sitting, knees drawn up, on the cold stone ground. His head rests upon his folded arms, and his breathing sounds suspiciously like snoring.
With your senses--aided, it seems, by your wind--focused on the brass spikes, you feel a restless elemental energy coiled within them. These are more than just inert pieces of metal.
"I will assist with the boards.", says Wamblee.
"I might as well help too, Wamblee. But first, I want to try something."
Samen plants his feet and taps into his Oread heritage, summoning forth acid into his hands. He throws it at a nearby spike.
The one medium-sized spike you hit melts a bit. The spikes around it shift around; most of them are now pointing directly at you.
"Fascinating. They seem to be either self aware, or more likely, controlled directly by the beast. I suppose they could simply be enchanted to respond autonomously to threats. Either way, if they're animate, I'm liking the boards idea less and less."
Samen ponders for a moment, then gets a bad idea. He systematically goes through every language he knows, asking the following. "Brass, or thing controlling the brass: if you can understand me and are so inclined, please wiggle the spikes back and forth to confirm a channel of communication."
"Is there no other way around?", Wamblee asks out loud, placing down an armful of lumber.
He seeks other tracks.
you wander the branches of the tunnel briefly, at first finding nothing but dead ends. In the very last branch, you see a small hole or crack near your feet. Your increasingly deep touch to the subterranean bones of the land lets you visualize roughly where this crack will lead, and you are fairly certain it will provide an alternate route to the chamber beyond the brass spikes.
The problem is the fit. Both you and Samen will be squeezing to get through this passage.
Wamblee returns to the others and softly says:
"There is another route, barely visible. A crack that will lead to the chamber beyond. But I, Samen, and Big Sitter will have to squeeze through. It is surely safer than tangling with semi-aware sharp metal."
"I think they are just enchanted Samen. And I am not going through that crack."
Albreane helps secure the boards with rope that she ties to stakes in the tunnel floor about ten feet back. They make a track, of sorts, but your supply only gets you thirty feet into the brazen maw. You estimate you would need another thirty to get around the long bend and see what is beyond.
"You're probably right, Mar, which is why I don't trust the boards. There's a chance the crack went unnoticed and undefended. You can climb on the ceiling though, so no problem. Meet us there."
Samen turns to Wamblee. "Time to suck in our guts then, isn't it?"
Big Sitter shrugs. "I'll go last. You two boys can have a fun time first." He rummages through one of the pouches on his belt. "Y' want to slather on some pig'rease before y' go in? Might help y' slide a bit, 'stead of getting stick with yer arse up in the air."
"Oreads between the stone, sylphs above it.", muses Wamblee wryly.
"And does anyone have pig grease or oil to spare?"
It is a tight, uncomfortable fit for the large oreads. Wamblee gets blocked up at the shoulders for a moment, but Samen propels him forward. Wamblee's hard skin wears away the rock in a few of the worst places, making it slightly easier for Samen.
And then Big Sitter gets completely stuck. He lets off a string of Oread curses.
The sylphs climb carefully on the ceiling above the brass spikes. You are in position to go around the bend and see what lies beyond.
Samoon takes a peek.
If the way is clear, he will try using his surveying staff to push the spikes deep into the earth.
"Nasty mind controlling spikes will rarely show their hand in a card game," he quips. "Let's see if we can make them go away."
A flat pane of faint white light appears over the spikes on the floor. The path of the pane follows the path of the tunnel, a little around the bend.
you get the impression that forcing the spikes down into the earth probably is a thing it can't do. If you took a sledge hammer and tried to drive a spike into the ground, it would probably either break or maybe get bent. The white light acts in kind of a similar way - one big piece of force. So, you get a platform on the ground in case you fall off the ceiling.
"That works. This way at least we don't have to worry about being caught defenseless if there are enemies near the spikes," Marianne says, clearly still nervous despite her words. "What is that sound? Is somebody still mining?"
Anyone who peeks from their respective lookouts would see hunched ifrits working in a large chamber, perhaps eighty feet on a side. The ifrits are forging something...
Then the smell hits you. A slaughterhouse smell. There are rough steel troughs filled with blood sitting serenely next to anvils, hammers, and fires. The ifrits move with the golemish movement you associate with being brass-minded. They appear to be cleaning the forges.
There are no exit tunnels that you can see. There is a large alcove, on the far side of the chamber, that houses what appears to be a much larger trough.
Wamblee turns and without mockery, tries to grasp Big Sitter and help him through.
Samen gets bumped as Big Sitter pops out,
but he stays steady, avoiding the discarded forging equipment on the floor of the southeast corner. The three oreads can clearly see the strange forges. The three sylphs on the ceiling are a little north of you, and in the far northern corner lies the large trough. The ifrits continue to clean, and take no notice of you.
Can our oread pals walk on that plate of force safely?
Samoon points to the frozen river of light he's created, gesturing that the oreads should try stepping on it...carefully.
Wamblee gets the hint and nods back to Samoon.
He attempts to step onto the shining path...carefully.
As Wamblee tests one, then two feet, the platform remains steady. The surface has no particular texture - smooth, but not slippery.
Wamblee nods again, and motions to the other two oreads to follow.
He then begins to quietly advance.
Marianne creeps as close as she can to observe what is happening from the ceiling.
Samoon stealth:
albreane stealth:
Samen untrained stealth:
You creep past the cooling forges, ignoring the iron-taste in the air that hangs around the bloody troughs. The liquid within these troughes is dark red and opaque.
You notice that this final chamber has a more natural feel to it - there are a fair number of stalagmites on the floor, and you do your best to hide behind them as you go.
The ifrits seem to be converging on the largest trough in the far corner. Closer now, you can see two scaly arms hanging over the side, ending in elegant, clawed fingers.
One of the ifrits intones, "There are no more hearts left to forge for tonight, Mighty One."
You hear a whining noise, like a spoiled child's cry, emanate from the creature. The ifrits nod. "Yes, Mighty One. We will bring the witch and the others from the last cell."
Wamblee indicates with his head and hands that he will follow the ifrits.
Marianne tenses at the mention of a witch. Bertrude! She starts to follow the ifrits with Wamblee, but pauses, eyeing the scaled arms of the dragon. Her eyes harden. Marianne drops a leg to halt Wamblee and anybody else's progress, gesturing to the large trough, before scuttling down the wall, and drawing her bow.
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Big Sitter completely ignores Marianne and silently follows the ifrits.
Samen nods at Marianne and readies his staff. Fight the problem at its source. It's the only way to save anyone without killing them first.